


And All Your Little Things

by Elle_Song



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Clarke Griffin, Budding Love, Clarke is an independent woman who deserves which ever lover she wants, Everyone ships Bellarke, F/M, Female Friendship, Leadership, Mentions of Lincoln/Octavia, Slow Build, mentions of Clexa and Clarke/Finn, mentions of Raven/Wick, talk about menstration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 02:35:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4002655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elle_Song/pseuds/Elle_Song
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke looked down at her upper thigh. </p>
<p>"Well... shit," she sighed. There was a small, red mark staining the inside leg of her sleep pants.</p>
<p>She'd been on the Earth for almost a year now, so it wasn't like blood was new to her. She'd wrapped hundreds of bandages, stitched dozens of wounds, and even pulled sharp objects out of people recently impaled. She’d seen plenty of her own blood too, at one memorable point gushing out of a puncture wound on her leg post-battle. Blood was, sadly, a big part of her medic life on the ground.</p>
<p>But this blood was different. It was personal, and it was a first. She knew all about the female reproductive cycle, including all of the Arc's restrictive measures, so she really shouldn't be surprised by it. But she was. And a little annoyed. Okay, pretty seriously annoyed. Clarke had not signed up for this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And All Your Little Things

**Author's Note:**

> Slight canon divergence/projection. Pretend that everything went according to plan, Mount Weather was disabled, and the Grounders and Sky People split on amiable terms after de-militarizing their enemy. Now, pretend Clarke’s still leader almost a year after that, and the main Sky People concern is maintaining permanent residence.

Clarke looked down at her upper thigh. 

"Well... shit," she sighed. There was a small, red mark staining the inside leg of her sleep pants.

She'd been on the Earth for almost a year now, so it wasn't like blood was new to her. She'd wrapped hundreds of bandages, stitched dozens of wounds, and even pulled sharp objects out of people recently impaled. She’d seen plenty of her own blood too, at one memorable point gushing out of a puncture wound on her leg post-battle. Blood was, sadly, a big part of her medic life on the ground.

But this blood was different. It was personal, and it was a first. She knew all about the female reproductive cycle, including all of the Arc's restrictive measures, so she really shouldn't be surprised by it. But she was. And a little annoyed. Okay, pretty seriously annoyed. Clarke had not signed up for this.

In a natural life like that of the Grounders, a woman wasn't considered an adult until she bled. On the Arc, a woman wasn't allowed to bleed unless she'd been approved to try to conceive her one and only child. Otherwise, preventative measures were taken. Clarke’s last injection was when the Arc was still in the sky, before her father’s arrest, and way before she’d been sent with the one hundred to the ground.

Now that the Arc was on the ground too, population control was a thing of the past. And so, currently, were anti-pregnancy injections. The vast majority of their supply had been destroyed during the crash, and with all the work necessary to set up a colony on Earth, birth control was pretty far down the list. After generations of the Arc’s one-child policy, Clarke hadn’t heard any complaints yet. Although she was sure there would be, with time. She would be one of the first to run out of birth control in her system – the rest of the Sky People would follow soon.

But for now, she was finally enjoying the totally natural experience of cramps. It sucked. Not as much as the battle at Mount Weather, but still pretty terribly. Her body was doing something entirely out of her control and she wanted it to stop. Now. 

“Urghhhh,” she whined, rolling over on her cot. She had a meeting with the local Grounder tribe in the evening, and had an inspection of food supplies to complete before then. But her lower stomach felt like it had been impaled. The process of getting up seemed to take three times the normal effort. Being leader was not all it was cracked up to be.

Clarke pulled herself out of bed with more internal griping than she would ever admit to. She pulled off the dirtied pants and started to wash down her thighs with cold water from a bucket in her bathing corner. Once she was clean and dry again, she found a new pair of underwear and tried her best to fashion some sort of pad out of a piece of clean cotton. That would take some practice.

She threw on the first shirt she could find – a loose gray tunic – and dug through her small pile of pants looking for something relatively stain resistant. Just in case.

Her search was interrupted by a knock at the door. The cabin she lived in was a combination of stone, wood, and metal wreckage that somehow kept out the elements and most ambient sound, but the hinges on the door badly needed replacing. She could hear how they squeaked in protest, which was actually a good warning sign for when one of her coworkers might be coming in unannounced. 

(At least the roof hadn't leaked since Raven had had a look at it. She'd come over to hang out one day last winter and cracked up at Clarke's judicial placement of buckets.)

"Just a second," Clarke called, pulling a new pair of pants on to complete her outfit.

The door opened just as she did up her last button. Typical. 

"Clarke?" A voice called through the partially open space.

"Yeah, come in," she sighed. She really shouldn't have expected any better. Heathens, all of them. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had real privacy. 

"Clarke, we gotta talk strategy if we're going to plant this wheat logically," Bellamy said, walking in with a piece of paper and a makeshift sheet metal clipboard in his hand. His curly hair haloed out around his angular face and his eyebrows were fixed with the stern set of contemplation. "Supplies from the Grounders won't allow for error. If we lose more than twenty percent -"

"We won't have sufficient harvest. I agree," she said. Person Clarke was having an annoying morning but Leader Clarke needed to keep her shit together now.

She crossed the room towards him, reaching for the clipboard to check the stats herself. Then she felt another small stab to her abdomen. She continued to hold out her hand expectantly, trying to keep the wince off her face.

She wasn’t entirely successful. Bellamy handed her the report, then scanned her up and down, as if assessing her physical state with his secret X-ray eyes.

Another stab. She moved her hand to rub at the source, trying to disguise the motion with the clipboard. The numbers were disconcerting. Arc scientists were hoping to increase the grain's durability through experimentation (since last year’s crop had been dismal), but if they destroyed too much of the seed while attempting to alter it, the production levels come Fall could be problematic.

"Clarke?" She glanced up. Bellamy was looking at her, eyebrows raised. "Everything good with you?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." She said, looking back at him and shifting her weight to her right hip.

He didn't look convinced. Then he nodded pointedly over her shoulder. She glanced back - at her dirty pants, slung across her bed, stain readily exposed.

She let out a little hiss of embarrassment.

"I didn't mean for anyone to see those,” she said, grabbing the offending pants and throwing them behind the bed and out of sight. “I'm not injured, I just have -"

"-cramps?" He supplied.

Her mouth hung open a bit. Sex education wasn't exactly prevalent on the Arc. Besides obligatory injections for women and men, most young people knew next to nothing about the reproductive process. Not that teens didn't have sex - with so few restrictions, it was pretty common. But the physical consequences, like periods, were not widely known. Clarke only knew what she did because of her medical studies.

Bellamy laughed at her obvious surprise. "Clarke, Octavia lived in a compartment under our floor for sixteen years. There were no secrets between us. Ever." His tiny accompanying shudder suggested there were some things he'd rather have never known about his sister - or have her know about him.

"And of course there was no way for her to get the mandatory injections," Clarke added as she put the pieces together. That meant Octavia had been experiencing this discomfort on and off for five or six years. And the entire time they'd lived together on Earth she'd never said anything. She really was the toughest of them.

"What camp are Octavia and Lincoln at right now?" Clarke asked in the least subtle plea for a female friend she had ever given.

"They're still touring the mountains in the west," Bellamy answered. "She won't be back for at least two weeks."

Clarke huffed her disappointment. The corner of Bellamy’s mouth twitched.

"The Grounders brought female hygiene products as part of their last trade shipment,” he said casually. “Do you want me to bring you some?"

"Yes, please," she replied immediately.

"Anything you want, Princess.” 

In that moment she could've kissed him, stupid nickname be damned. Except that would be weird. He was her second, her support, and her friend. Not kissing material. She’d never kissed Wells. It just wasn’t a good idea to kiss your friends, even if they did bring you feminine hygiene products.

He was almost out the door before she snapped herself out of that useless train of thought. It seemed mental derailment really was one of her symptom of menstruation. How disappointing.

"Hey, Blake," Clarke called, trying, and failing, to put what his actions meant to her into words. "Thanks. For understanding."

"No problem," he replied. "I will treasure this day as the day that I knew as much about a biological function as the great Clarke Griffin." He was about to walk out again when he caught himself this time, turning back to add, "Let me know when your lower back starts hurting. I have something for that too."

And then he was gone, grain supplies still in question. Clarke let out another sigh, contemplating if she could justify taking a few painkillers. Since no one had actually stabbed her, probably not. Bad precedent to set. And that was just the way her life seemed to go.

\- - - - - - - - - - - -

Eleven hours later, Clarke threw herself onto her bed with a moan. The day had been intensely annoying. She’d been forgetful and clumsy. And she’d had to use the bathroom like eight times. It was disgusting. But she’d damn well faked it all day. 

First was deciding how much grain to give the scientists (less than they wanted yet also the absolute max she was willing to spare). Then inspecting the saplings that should one-day bare apples. And of course she had to make sure the soil in the fields was being tilled sufficiently. Planting should begin in the next two weeks, according to Sky People and Grounder joint calculations. This week was the very first taste of spring and Clarke wished she could enjoy it the way her friends seemed to. That was just a daydream for now.

Then Monty and Raven had wanted to talk about the generators. More parts were necessary, which meant finding raw materials, or sharing, or stealing, from Mount Weather. Electricity was still intensely rationed, but everyone dreamed of powering individual houses soon. At the moment, sparse streetlights were all the camp could handle.

Then her meeting had begun. She’d stood tall and looked stern and played “Sky People Princess” for two hours with the lakeside Grounders. They’d renewed their treaty for another year, and agreed to most of her terms. It was a pretty favorable experience, and at least she hadn’t had to worry about bloodstains on her pants for a while. If the Grounders saw any, they’d probably respect her all the more for it. But she didn’t dare wince even once. Blood was fine. Weakness was not.

Now it was late. She was worn out. And her lower back hurt way worse than she’d anticipated.

It was while lying there, facedown and totally exhausted, that she remembered Bellamy’s offer. She let out another groan. She had to go find him. She had to. She wouldn’t be able to fall asleep like this. 

She walked out of her house calmly, as though visiting her second after hours was a common occurrence for her (it was not). She knocked quietly on his door, and waited for him to actually answer before stepping inside as a subtle reminder that manners were possible. 

He looked her up and down from where he was lying on his bed reading a book. “Backache?” he said knowingly.

“Ugghhh,” she moaned in response. He sat up, hitting the bed beside him to indicate she should sit. She obeyed silently.

“So, I didn’t exactly explain this earlier but this was a technique my mom taught me,” he said, tossing his book aside to clear the bed. “She did some physical therapy stuff in her spare time, and this was part of it. She used to do it for Octavia all the time, and O always said it helped a lot.”

Clarke nodded, willing to try anything.

“Lie down on your stomach.” He gestured at the empty bed in front of her. She complied, slowly. This wasn’t exactly what she had been anticipating, but at this point she was open to anything.

A moment after she’d settled herself she felt warm, smooth hands on her back. They were on top of her shirt in an entirely proper fashion (not that she’d ever thought Bellamy might cop a feel while helping her get rid of cramps). It was a strange sensation, having his hands on her, but as he pushed and pulled and kneaded the skin and bones of her lower back she felt herself sighing in contentment. It was wonderful.

Ten minutes later, she stood on tired, relaxed legs. “Thank you,” she told him quite sincerely, “that really, really helped.”

“Anytime you need it,” he replied. “You know where to find me.

(If she went to his tent the next night and asked for a massage again, well, they were the only ones who needed to know.)

\- - - - - - - - - -

The horn that announced returning friends blew just as Clarke finished inspecting a feverish ten-year-old. 

"Fluids, sleep, and no school tomorrow," she reminded the boy's mother. "If at any point he gets worse, bring him back to the clinic immediately. Other than that, my professional diagnosis is the common flu."

"Thank you," the mother said with relief, rubbing the top of her son's head fondly as they walked slowly back to their house. 

Clarke tried to hide her eagerness, but the speed with which she was taking off her gloves and coat could hardly be denied. 

"Expecting someone?" Her mother asked from where she was sorting medical samples on the other side of the room. 

"Octavia and Lincoln," Clarke replied breathlessly, cleaning up the exam space at record speed. 

"Ah," her mother smiled fondly. "Get out of here, then. And try not to stay up too late gossiping."

"Mom," Clarke rolled her eyes, "I’ve been on Earth almost a year. I think I can handle my own schedule."

"I know, dear," Abby replied, "just don't forget that running this camp is much easier without a hangover."

"Yeah, yeah," Clarke laughed, slipping out the door and physically forcing herself not to run to the gates. There was still time, if she power walked. 

Sure enough, the gates were opening just as she arrived. 

"Clarke!" A black and brown blur yelled before immediately launching herself into Clarke's arms. She hugged Octavia back as tightly as she could. She was tough and dangerous and bubbly and bright - and one of Clarke's truest friends. 

In the past year, Clarke and Octavia had grown remarkably close. Time had thoroughly convinced Clarke that O was both the person you want to goof around with at the flower fields in summer and the one you wanted holding a gun and guarding your back in the trenches. In fact, if Bellamy wasn't around and Octavia didn't already have a job, then Clarke would've been quite happy to have the other Blake as her second. 

Unfortunately, O was pretty busy already as both Indra's second and the political liaison between Sky People and Grounders. After what they'd done to Lincoln, she refused to negotiate with Mount Weather at all, even though they were under new leadership. The only exception was when she had donated bone marrow twice - to twin sisters in a kindergarten class. 

After their public reunion where the girls had hugged, and Bellamy and Lincoln had clasped shoulders in an almost fond greeting, Clarke had whisked her friend away. She could catch up with Lincoln and Bellamy could good-naturedly gripe at Octavia later. 

The two women climbed the forested hillside, talking of everything and nothing, before they reached the rocky cliff. Suspended five meters above the deep, calm, home of non-carnivorous fish, the cliff was one of Clarke's favorite places. She had at least three drawings made here fixed to her bedroom walls.

"Alright," Octavia said once they were comfortably perched with their feet dangling over the edge. "What is so important that you brought me here? I know this is the special occasion location. Has there been a coup d'état? Did you finally acquire a secret lover?"

"I'm head of the state. If there was a coup d'état it would be someone overthrowing me," Clarke joked, pointedly ignoring the second question. 

"And about time too!" Octavia laughed. "You work too much, Clarke. It's dangerous. Haven't you ever thought one career was enough?"

"Nope!" Clarke declared, tossing a rock into the water for emphasis. "I shall remain Princess Doctor as long as physically possible."

Octavia threw her own stone in a neat arch, up and over to the other shore. "Alright, That is a pretty good title. So what's up, Princess M.D.?

"Well," Clarke said slowly, adding unnecessary suspense, "I had my first blood."

"First?" Octavia echoed in confusion. Then her face lit with understanding. "First! Oh, of course! I hadn't thought about all your space hormones. We should have a Moon Day party," she gushed. "Not a public one or anything - just you, me, and Raven. Has she had hers yet? Whatever. Either way, we’re Grounders now and Grounders celebrate these things."

Clarke smiled. This was why she had missed O. Raven was awesome, but she pretty much only gushed about mechanics. 

"That sounds perfect,” Clarke said. “We’ll meet here after hours tonight. You bring the other guest of honor - I'll bring the supplies."

"Perfect," Octavia agreed. 

\- - - - - - - - 

Not long after nightfall, when everyone else was heading to their beds, Clarke and an armful of supplies made a run for the gate. She had blankets for them to sit on, wine to drink, and ripe plums she had been saving as a treat. It was all from her private supplies - she would never consider stealing from the public larder, even if her status might create a little wiggle room. She tried to set an example, after all. 

But that was also why the wine wasn't particularly high quality. It was something Monty had whipped up and was still a work in progress, he claimed. She had drunk a glass back in her room to test it out, and while she had winced a bit, it set in nicely. Ten minutes later and her lips were tingling pleasantly. 

Clarke made it about fifteen steps outside the wall before she physically bumped into Bellamy. One of his arms was full with a load of firewood, and both of hers were with the party items. It was a miracle that neither of them dropped anything. 

"This is not what it looks like," she immediately supplied. Perhaps the wine had loosened her tongue a little too much. 

"So this has nothing to do with why I saw Raven and Octavia sneaking up the hill five minutes ago?" He said skeptically. 

"Okay, well, yes then. This is exactly what it looks like," she conceded. "Now that we're all back together we’re having a little nighttime celebration."

"And I wasn't invited?" He put his free hand to his chest in mock offense. Clarke burst out laughing, almost dropping her things. 

"It's a Moon Blood party," she explained while catching her breath. "You aren't exactly qualified."

"Ah."

"It's a Grounder thing - Octavia's idea. Remember the one we went to at that desert tribe's camp?"

"Yes - and better than you, I’d bet." He took a step closer, looking her up and down. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

She glanced at her food in confusion. The preparations were pretty basic. The blankets were just to make stargazing more comfortable. "What part?"

"All the women are supposed to claim a kiss," he laughed. "I knew you'd forgot."

The memory came back to her instantly. Sky People representatives had been invited to the public ceremony, and when the newly made women and a few elders were ready to leave for the private ceremony, the young ones were told to claim a kiss from one of the remaining men or women. It wasn't a particularly sexual part of the ceremony, just a reminder of their increased agency. One cheeky teen had tried to take one from Bellamy, but her elders had laughingly pulled her away, since he wasn't part of their tribe. 

"I guess I'll have to steal one from Raven," Clarke said with a shrug, willing herself to look anywhere but Bellamy's lips. Definitely too much wine. 

"As you wish," he said, returning her shrug. He shifted the wood into his other arm, turning ruefully back towards camp. "Have fun tonight, Clarke."

"Thanks," she said, freeing up one hand just enough to grab his arm and pull him back to her. He stumbled a little when he turned, but moved willingly enough. There was still a good amount of space between them due to all they were carrying, but she managed to reach him by leaning on her tiptoes. 

She pressed a hasty kiss to his surprised lips, then pulled away. He leaned forward as if to follow her mouth, thrown off by her quick release. 

"The kiss is supposed to be taken, not offered," she explained, spinning on her heel and jogging lightly up the hill to catch up with her friends. She wasn't exactly running from him, but she certainly wasn't going to let him reply either. She wasn't ready to hear what he had to say. 

On top of the hill they drank, and ate, and danced around naked late into the night, reveling in being women. But no matter how much they drank, Clarke never mentioned the kiss she’d stolen. It was her kiss, her secret, and for some reason she wanted to keep it that way.

\- - - - - - - - - 

Clarke woke up the next morning with a groan. She was aware of only two things: someone was knocking on her door and her head was throbbing. 

“Just get in here,” she growled, her own lectures about door opening etiquette temporarily forgotten. She threw a pillow over her face to block out the sunlight as the door opened briefly.

“Good morning, Princess,” Bellamy laughed as he ducked inside. He looked disgustingly fresh with his hair still damn from bathing and his white shirt clinging a little at the shoulders. She moved the pillow a few centimeters farther off her head to get a better view. He should not look that good while she was this hung over. It was rude.

He walked casually over to her bed, hands free of reports and papers for once. 

“Did you have a good night last night?” he asked innocently, wandering over to the foot of her bed. He settled down onto the end of it, next to the blanket-clad lump that was her body.

“Yeah,” she said with a yawn, “But now I’m thinking about some advice my mom gave me – something about not mixing leadership with hangovers. Please tell me I don’t have any important meetings today.”

“You don’t,” he reported. “I already told a few people you were feeling sick. Rescheduled your clinic duty for tomorrow – Abby got a kick out of that. Everything else I can handle.”

Clarke had rarely felt such a strong surge of affection for someone. Bellamy Blake, saving her ass once again.

No one had ever done little things like that for her before. Wells had tried, but he’d always been unlucky with that sort of thing. Finn, before the breakdown, still hadn’t been one for small gestures. Lexa, even if she’d been so inclined, hadn’t really known Clarke well enough to try. Too many cultural differences.

“Do you want food now or are you going back to sleep?” he asked, voice even deeper than normal in an attempt to respect her headache.

“Food,” she declared without much conviction. “Definitely food. I can’t let you do all my work today.”

“Clarke,” he said warningly, “let me do this. You did all my work for two weeks when I had the flu.”

“True,” she admitted, rolling into a semi-vertical position. “But you didn’t give yourself the flu by drinking too much of Monty’s wine. Although you probably could have – who knows what’s in that stuff.”

He laughed softly, but didn’t protest anymore.

He was standing up to leave when she stopped him. 

"Bellamy, why do you put up with me?" she asked. It was perhaps a more honest question than she’d meant to ask, but she was genuinely curious.

"What do you mean?” he responded calmly. “You're the best of the best, Clarke. This whole camp would be lost without you." She grinned weakly back at him. 

"I'm a little too hung over to believe you, but it's a nice sentiment."

"You'll feel better after breakfast," he said, slipping away to go obtain the promised food. 

\- - - - - 

Bathing and changing clothes seemed to take twice as long as normal, which was probably why she was still fighting with her shirt when he returned. 

"I put it on backwards," she explained. 

"Need help?"

"No, no," she said, struggling to get her arm into the right hole, "this is embarrassment enough for one day, I think." She had never been more aware of how inconvenient her large chest was. 

(And why was it always Bellamy catching her doing stupid things? Couldn’t he be the idiot in these situations more often?)

When she finished arranging her clothes, she looked up to see him tacitly avoiding eye contact. He was biting down on his lower lip, staring at the ground. And that was the first time she thought about the kiss she had stolen. 

She wondered if he'd been thinking about it. She wondered if he had liked it. 

"Hey, you're going to eat this with me, right?" She gestured to the spread he'd picked up from the kitchen, oatmeal and dried meat and a small jug of fruit juice. It was definitely enough for two. "If you're going to be me for the day, you'll need the extra energy."

"Yeah." He pulled her table/desk over towards the foot of her bed, and then dragged the solitary chair after it. She sat on the bed, facing the table, and waited for him to sit across from her. 

"So, did you talk to Octavia this morning?" She asked around a spoonful of oatmeal. 

"Nah. I figure she's just as hung over as you. Better to let Lincoln take care of her. I'll see her in the evening." 

Clarke was a little taken aback. It was a perfectly reasonable answer. She knew Lincoln would happily help Octavia. But she had just assumed that Bellamy had checked on his sister around the same time he'd checked on her. The Blake’s were notoriously close, after all. 

If that had been the case, then he was basically extending his roll as big brother to taking care of Clarke too. Yet if Lincoln was taking care of Octavia, and presumably Wick was looking after Raven, then it was less like Bellamy was her surrogate brother and more like he was her stand-in boyfriend. 

She put another spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth. 

“So, repairs on the communal buildings,” she said, steering the conversation back to the comfortable subject of work. Bellamy followed her lead easily, and soon they were discussing the relative uses of wood verses metal paneling.

\- - - - - - - - - 

For the next few weeks, every time Clarke needed something, Bellamy seemed to be there. Clarke wasn’t sure if he was around more, or if she’d just become more consciously aware of his presence. Something was different between them; she guessed it had to do with the fact that he was slowly learning all her secrets. In the past two months he’d given her a massages when her moon blood was particularly brutal, seen her half naked more than once, and taken care of her when she’d accidentally wrecked herself. He’d even cleaned up and bandaged a cut she’d gotten on her back from a particularly vicious tree branch she should not have stumbled into. 

She still wasn’t sure how she felt about being so exposed, but on the other hand she trusted him. And he’d never given her reason not to.

Life on Earth brought out a lot of emotions for Clarke, but the way Bellamy acted seemed to suggest he only wanted her to experience the positive ones. He tried to make her smile at every opportunity. He knew what she liked, and used that knowledge to get it for her. It was almost… sweet.

Her love of painting and art was well known, but her obsessive sweet tooth was less common knowledge. She hadn’t exactly had a lot of opportunities to satisfy it lately. 

She was at the spring washing her clothes (downstream from the drinking receptacle) when Bellamy appeared through the trees looking a little breathless.

“Clarke!” he called. She stood, looking at his windswept hair and waiting to hear if his news was good or bad and what it required of her. Raven, who was washing her clothes a few feet downstream, glanced between the two of them but made no move to rise.

“Hey Raven,” Bellamy nodded a greeting at the other woman as he loped gently down the incline to join them by the water.

“What’s up?” Clarke inquired.

“Nothing nearly as drastic as me running over here probably implied,” he said. “I was just feeling a little lazy and a run seemed like good exercise.”

Then he reached out his closed hand, palm up, and slowly opened it to reveal –

“A strawberry?” Clarke gasped, looking down at the tiny red fruit lying on a white piece of cloth.

“I came across a patch of them when I was out running. I brought it to Lincoln to verify, but yeah. It’s a wild strawberry. This was the ripest one.”

“Awesome!” Clarke exclaimed, perhaps a little too excitedly. She’d read about strawberries in her Earth guidebook, but this was the first one she’d seen up close. She reached tentatively for it and he passed it over immediately. Behind them, Raven smirked while wringing out one of her shirts.

“It’s for you,” Bellamy stated. “We were talking about fruit the other day and you mentioned how much you wanted to taste one.”

“Wait,” Clarke protested, “if this is the first ripe one then you haven’t gotten to try any. It’s your find, Blake. This honor definitely belongs to you.”

“Griffin,” he raised an eyebrow, “I brought this here for you. Just accept it graciously. I’ll eat the next one.”

“You’re impossible.” she declared. But her mouth was watering just looking at the small red fruit with its tiny leafy cap. In one swift move she gave in, popping the fruit (minus leaf and stem) into her mouth. She chewed it slowly, closing her eyes for a little longer than necessary to help savor the taste.

“That is dangerously delicious,” she sighed. “Do the Grounders grow these? Is there something we could trade for this? Everyone has to try one. Seriously. Strawberry rations will be a thing now.”

“You might be getting a little ahead of yourself,” he joked. When she opened her eyes he was staring right at her, closer than she’d remembered. Her eyes immediately narrowed in on the cupid’s bow of his lips. She wanted to find more berries on her own, to give him that type of pleasure.

Raven coughed loudly. “Looks delicious. You better keep an eye on that bush – don’t let a two headed deer eat them all or anything. I expect to be part of the next group to taste one.”

“No problem,” Bellamy said, glancing back at her as if he’d almost forgotten he and Clarke had an audience.

After he’d jogged off back in the direction of camp, Raven turned an accusatory look on Clarke.

“What? He brings me stuff sometimes,” the blonde shrugged. “He probably just thinks of me like another little sister or something.” This was how she had explained his strange behavior for the past few months (excluding the hangover incident, which she mostly tried to ignore).

It made some sense. She was like a sister and a boss rolling into one. Of course he wanted to keep her happy – it made his job more enjoyable, didn’t it? They hadn’t fought about anything in ages. They were weirdly in sync now, and his doting probably had something to do with that. She wasn’t sure what that said about her, but it was undeniably true.

“Clarke, I’ve seen how he talks to Octavia,” Raven said skeptically. “He does not think of you like a sister.” Clarke looked up at the tree line.

“There’s nothing going on between us,” she stated as firmly as she could.

“Nothing that you’ve named,” Raven agreed. “But there’s definitely something happening there. I’m not blind.”

“What do you see then, oh omniscient Raven?” she mocked halfheartedly.

“I see that he’s courting you,” she replied curtly.

“Is not!” Clarke immediately denied.

“Fine,” Raven backed down, hands in the air in pretend defense. “Maybe I’m reading this totally wrong. I’ll leave it to you to decide, it’s your life. But it looks like something more from where I’m standing, and if you keep looking at each other like that, it wont be long before the rest of the camp notices too.”

“Noted,” Clarke sighed. She finished her washing, then clasped a hand on her friend’s shoulder to let her know there were no hard feelings before she picked up her wet clothes and set off for the settlement. She had a lot to consider.

\- - - - - - - 

It was the middle of the afternoon not long after the strawberry incident when Clarke sought out advice from her rather ridiculous, but still oddly intuitive, friend Jasper.

Jasper was on clothes repair duty today. Weaving production was still low, but sewing up old items was not a particularly high-needs job so Jas was the only one assigned to it currently. Clarke found him outside at the corner of the camp, a large basket of discarded items at his side. He smiled brightly when she came to join him.

She only lasted through five minutes of pleasantries and camp gossip before she cracked and told him what Raven had said. It had been buzzing about inside of her ever since, and she couldn’t suppress it anymore. He dove into the topic immediately.

"Well, when was the last time someone courted you?" Jasper asked. "Full out Grounder-style, I mean." He threw a pile of shirts at Clarke as they talked. She picked a faded blue one out of the bunch and began to thread a needle.

Clarke scrunched up her nose, trying to get her thread through the eye while considering his question.

"Lexa, I guess?" She replied. She tied a knot in the thread, biting the ends off with her teeth, then picked up the shirt again. There was a hole at the left armpit. She set about to mending it. Handicrafts were supposed to help keep surgeons’ fingers dexterous, after all.

"What did she do to show it?” He prompted.

Clarke thought back to a few months ago, when the gorgeous and volatile Grounder queen had sought her favor. 

“She brought me things. Food, treats, clothes. And she invited me on walks and to meetings, lots of alone time.”

"And," Jasper said in an exaggeratingly patronizing tone, "has Bellamy demonstrated any similar behavior of late?"

“No,” Clarke immediately replied. But he had brought her a piece of cranberry bread to try the day before, still fresh from the camp ovens. The week before there had been the strawberry incident. And when she was working late one night earlier in the month he had made leek soup with his own hands. When he gave it to her he had said, “You’re the only woman who could get me to cook for her, Clarke Griffin.”

Clarke put down her needlework. “Yes. Yes, he has.” And there was a lot more evidence than she’d ever added up before.

“Ah ha!” Jasper said in triumph. “You are being courted. I knew it!”

“Shut up!” She said, giving him a little shove with her shoulder. “It’s different with us.”

“Yeah,” he said smugly, “because you like him back.”

“Hey!” Clarke protested, “I liked Lexa. It just wouldn’t have worked between us. She had her people to take care of and I had mine. Neither of us could afford to put the other first. It wasn’t possible.”

“You and Bellamy don’t have that problem,” he stated matter-of-factly. “You serve the same people – not in the same ways, but you have the same overarching goals.”

“He’s my second. A relationship would be impractical.”

“Impractical, yet welcome,” he teased, bumping his shoulder against hers.

“I shouldn’t have told you,” she sighed. “You get far too much enjoyment out of this.” He laughed good-naturedly, finishing the shirt he was working on and grabbing a patch to sew onto the next pair of pants.

In a more serious tone, he added, “It’s not the end of the world if you fraternize with someone you genuinely care about, Clarke. I know all about what happened with Finn. Bellamy wouldn’t break like that. Loving each other doesn’t have to weaken either of you.”

Clarke clutched at her shirt, holding the fabric tight in her hands as a flash of how it had felt to kill Finn spread over her. It was so long ago now, but she would never forget. She hadn’t forgotten the monster he had become at the end, either. All those unarmed civilians he had shot…

She took a deep breath. Jasper was right. Bellamy wouldn’t do that. He was stronger than Finn had been, but just as kind. Sharper, and more serious. Except when he was with her, where she seemed to provide a constant source of amusement.

“Look,” Jasper said in response to her silence, “Life is too short not to take these opportunities. Consider Maya and I. I love her, I really do. And she lives inside a mountain, trying to work with a group of radiation-allergic refugees. I see her every two weeks, if I can. But I still love her. You and Bellamy have way fewer restrictions than that. I mean, at least the two of you can breath the same air.”

“No luck with the bone marrow match yet?” Clarke inquired sympathetically. He shook his head, and she pulled him in for a hug. “The right volunteer will come around one day, Jasper. You’ll get to be with her again.”

“I hope so,” he sighed with conviction.

Clarke walked away with Jasper’s words playing through her mind. When had he gotten so smart? She remembered when he’d been a goofy kid with goggles and a crush on Octavia. Now here he was in love with a girl who genuinely felt the same and doing what he could to be with her. It was admirable, really.

\- - - - - - - 

"Clarke!" Monty yelled, dashing into the clinic two weeks later on an otherwise quiet afternoon. Clarke put down the blood sample she was examining and walking over to him immediately, mentally taking stock of any possible injuries. He looked fine, so she pointed him to a chair, which he gratefully collapsed into.

"What's up?" She asked as he bent over to catch his breath. 

"It's B-Bellamy," he stammered. Clarke grabbed her emergency kit, throwing it over her shoulder. "An animal attacked him down by the river. It's bad."

"Where is he now?" Monty was way too tired to run back with her so she needed as specific instructions as possible. 

"We didn't move him far - west bank, just past the usual fishing hole. Miller’s there."

"Got it," she said. "I need you to send at least two more people after me with a stretcher. Then go get Abby and tell her to cover for me here and to prep for possible surgery. I’ll bring him home." She was off at a run, duffle bag slapping awkwardly against her side. 

Damn it. Things had been so good lately – so of course this had to happen. That was just their life on Earth. 

When she found him ten minutes later she could see why Monty had been so spooked. Miller was leaning over Bellamy, pressing his rolled up t-shirt into Bellamy’s shoulder to try to stop the bleeding. They were talking too. She couldn’t hear about what, but she saw their lips moving. All of that was good. They clearly remembered their emergency care training (The AMC method: In case of major injury, 1) Apply pressure to wound, 2) Maintain consciousness, and 3) fetch Clarke).

They both looked up as she clambered down the rocky embankment. She thought she saw Bellamy’s mouth form the shape of her name.

“What happened?” she asked Miller immediately, sitting down beside them and fishing supplies out of her bag.

“It was something big – a bear maybe? We were looking for new fishing spots. Bellamy was right up by the bank when it came crashing out of the woods looking crazed. It took a swipe at him before we got a chance to draw our guns. Ran back off into the woods after we shot at it.”

She nodded her acknowledgment, pulling out more bandaging and disinfectant. Ideally, she would get him back to camp before doing anything major but that depended entirely on his condition. He had lost a lot of blood.

“Am I that bad?” he whispered, looking up at her tense face.

“I mean, not to hurt your feelings or anything, but you look a lot better when you haven’t just had five massive claws ripped through you,” she said, lifting Miller’s shirt farther up to assess. 

“I thought bears were supposed to be gentle,” Bellamy hissed as she swabbed a bit at the cuts. She was surprised he could still register pain – he must be close to going into shock by now.

“Maybe in those books you read,” she replied, deciding to wrap his shoulder as tightly as she could manage for transport and deal with the rest on site. “Bears after the apocalypse are evil little fuckers.”

“Not that little,” he groaned.

His continued attempts at wit made her want to laugh and cry simultaneously. He could be dying. It was the thought that had been stuck in her mind the entire run over. Bellamy Blake could die today, and it would break her. People she loved kept dying – her father, Wells, Finn, and now possibly Bellamy. She couldn’t handle it. She just couldn’t.

So she pushed the possibility from her mind and waved over the three young men Monty had sent with the stretcher. The whole walk back she held Bellamy’s hand tightly. She talked to him about camp business, the sort of stuff he was always barging into her tent for. When she ran out of that, she talked about the picture she’d been painting. He had smiled at that. When she couldn’t think of anything else to say, she sang softly. He stayed awake through all of it.

“Get him on the table, now,” Abby barked as soon as they were inside. Clarke heaved a tiny, unsteady sigh of relief that her mom was here. She let go of Bellamy’s hand, staring at her own shaking fingers. She couldn’t do this alone. She had, in the past, but everything had been peaceful for so long. She’d let herself believe that no one else would die for a while. Stupid, in retrospect.

“Clarke!” her mother snapped, gesturing her over. “Take three deep breaths and then suit up, now. You’re assisting and I need you to be on top of this. He needs you to be on top of this.”

She nodded resolutely, took her breaths, and got to work fetching anesthesia. 

The surgery took three hours. Mostly it was cleaning and sewing up horrible, possibly infected gashes. But one of the cuts had gone straight between two ribs. For a while there, they’d been concerned it had punctured a lung. Scans had managed to disprove that, but it was close. Really close. 

As soon as they finished, Clarke sat down with her face between her legs. 

I am stronger than this, she repeated again and again. Abby walked up behind her, pressing her palm heavily against Clarke’s spine. Her daughter looked up with tearful eyes and Abby pulled her into a tight, strong hug – no questions asked.

\- - - - - - 

Octavia and Clarke took turns keeping bedside vigil that first twenty-four hours. Sometimes, they just sat together, talking about everything right over the unconscious body in the room.

(“What do you think of strawberries?” Clarke had asked the first afternoon.

“They’re good,” Octavia replied. “Sweet, but a little tangy, you know? I like that. Lincoln wants to grow some near camp. He’s planning to plant some seeds.”

“Good,” Clarke replied vaguely, looking at the curve of Bellamy’s nose. “Really good. We all need a little more sweet in our lives.”)

His prognosis was good – he was heavily sedated to fight off infection but should wake soon. A string of stitches and multiple blood transfusions had saved his life. His left side wouldn’t look the same, and physical therapy might take months, but he would recover.

\- - - - - - 

Clarke was working the nightshift cleaning up her only patient’s room when she heard his first noise.

“Hey, Princess,” he croaked. Her eyes went wide and she spun around immediately. Clarke sat heavily onto the side of his bed, staring. She raised one arm as if to hug him, then moved it to his wrist to double check his vitals instead. 

“Don’t ever do that to me again Bellay Blake,” she said vehemently. “One day, you’re going to have an injury I can’t fix.”

“That’s not true,” he grinned weakly. “You can always kiss it better.” She laughed softly at him as she fiddled with the IV. She’d been waiting, begging, for him to wake up. Now that he was awake, it was difficult to make eye contact.

She had almost lost him this time. For all they were joking about it, this could have ended very differently. It scared her to realize how much she needed him. He was her anchor. If he were gone, she’d be cut adrift. 

She said none of this, just fidgeted in silence, but he knew her. After a minute of quiet, he lifted one limp hand off the bed, staring at her the whole time. He knew how close they’d come to being separated this time, and he was sorry for it. She quietly threaded her fingers with his. They sat like that in silence until the pain meds pulled him under and he drifted back to sleep.

\- - - - -

It took another week for Bellamy to heal enough to be released. He complained the whole way through.

“I’m fine,” he argued gruffly on the third day. “Let me get back to work.”

Clarke sighed, not even looking up from the medicinal herb guide she was illustrating. “You’re on way too many pain medications for that, and you know it. At this point you could probably dislocate your other arm without feeling a thing.”

“Then take me off them,” he groused.

“Your machismo may work on other women,” she said, “but you don’t actually have to die to prove yourself.” She picked up a leaf, moving it between her fingers as she contemplated the correct shading.

“What other women?” he protested under his breath. She smiled quietly.

“Relax,” she recommended, grabbing a different pencil. “Pretend you’re on vacation.”

\- - - - - - - 

“This is not a vacation,” Bellamy spat through his teeth two days later. He was sitting up in bed, attempting to move his legs into a suitable standing position.

“That’s because you’re on a way lower dose of painkillers now,” she explained, offering an arm that he shamelessly took.

“I changed my mind,” he hissed. “Give me the good stuff again.” He was standing now, but still leaning heavily on her. Supporting his weight after being bedridden for a few days was clearly a struggle.

“Too late,” she said. “You wanted to get back to work. I’m going to help you get there – somehow.”

He let out a groan and took another two wobbling steps.

\- - - - - - - -

When he was finally ready to return to his own room, Clarke found herself suddenly busy. There were two allergic reactions to a new plant within six hours of each other. Coming up with the appropriate salve to combat the hives the unfortunate patients contracted took up a good amount of time. 

The rest of the time, well, there were bottles to sort and supplies to manage. It’s not like she was making busy work for herself – it was more like work kept appearing, and she had to deal with it.

But it felt wrong. It was strange to have the bed empty. No one to talk to, or make inappropriate insinuations about her bedside manner. She missed him.

Then Raven came by with a piece of an old radio in her hand and sat beside Clarke as they did their respective work. And the ache for Bellamy subsided, for a time. It was strange how friends could do that – patch holes and provide distractions.

It was better this way, Clarke told herself. He needed time to heal, and she needed time to figure out how to be independent of him again. This was better, for both of them. They could go back to being friends and everything would hurt just a little less.

\- - - - - - - -

It was late afternoon on Clarke’s no-clinic day when the door to her cabin burst open without even an attempt at a knock. She jumped up from where she’d been working at her desk. A head of messy black hair peeked around the door, followed by a familiar body. Despite his assertions about work, he’d been restricted to afternoons only and the two of them had had little overlap.

“Bellamy,” she said in surprise. He walked gingerly inside, clutching at his stomach. She ushered him over to the edge of her bed immediately, sitting him down like any other patient. “What’s wrong? Where does it hurt?”

“I think I’m… bleeding,” he said, still grabbing his stomach. 

“Where?” She asked, looking him up and down. “And what are you doing here? You should’ve gone straight to the clinic.” Her hands were already moving to his shoulder, ready to peel back his shirt and check the stitches.

“No, it had to be you,” he choked out. Then he shook his head at her questioning fingers. Not the shoulder this time, then. “It’s my abdomen. It hurts. And I’ve been feeling dizzy. And clumsy.”

She ran over the symptoms. Infection? Did he have a fever? If the pain was in his abdomen instead of the wound site it could be totally unrelated, like appendicitis. 

He leaned forward with a groan, adding, “And my back just aches, you know? Right at the base.”

She lowered her hands slowly, expression changing from concerned to miffed.

“I’m pretty sure it’s cramps,” he said very solemnly, brown eyes fixed on hers. “Think you could give me that massage?”

Clarke stood up abruptly, crossing her arms and taking three steps back to stop herself from shoving him. He was still recovering from an actual injury, after all. He stood as well, mimicking her pose.

“Bellamy Blake,” she snapped, “if you wanted to talk to me you could’ve just said so!”

“Clarke Griffin, if you wanted to avoid me you could’ve just told me,” he snapped back. “Or do we only talk now when we need something from each other?”

She uncrossed her arms. He had a point. If he’d been any other patient, she would have made a house call to check his progress by now. It was stupid to assume he wouldn’t notice. 

“You’re right,” she said calmly. “I’ve been busy. That wasn’t fair to you.”

His aggressive stance relaxed immediately, and she thought about how her distance must have felt to him. Like she didn’t care how he healed. Like she only cared when he was her direct patient. It had been a selfish response, staying away from him without explanation. Way more selfish than her self-justifications had let her acknowledge up until now.

“Why?” he asked softly. She knew he meant ‘why the distance?’, but to explain that she’d have to explain why the closeness as well. She’d have to talk about why that operating room had terrified her. She’d have to tell him everything, all the stuff she hadn’t let herself process yet.

“I’ve been busy,” she repeated, looking away from him. She picked up a piece of paper from her desk, eyes ghosting over it as if she was reading. She couldn’t even process the letters.

He reached out slowly, plucking the paper from between her fingers and setting it back down.

“No,” he said calmly. “Why haven’t I seen you for three days? Tell me the truth.” That was the other side to their relationship – he teased her, he spoiled her, and he made her own up to her shit. It was only fair. She took a steadying breath. The truth this time, then.

“I was afraid – of you. Of losing you. Of realizing that I’m not ready for any of this.” She clenched her hands into fists, making herself keep eye contact with him. She shouldn’t be afraid of Bellamy. He was her second, her confidant, possibly even her best friend. But that gave him power over her in a way that was difficult for her to accept.

“You were afraid of me?” he huffed, raising his right hand and letting it hover near her cheek. She hadn’t realized how close they were standing. “Clarke, you know what I would do for you.”

Anything. They both knew it; he didn’t even have to say the word. He’d proven it to her a thousand times before – that was part of why she trusted him so much. She closed her eyes, giving in and leaning her head until her cheek brushed against his palm. He immediately adjusted his hand to press it closer to her, fingers tangling in the hair behind her ear.

“It’s not about that, Bell,” she sighed as his thumb traced across her cheekbone. “I don’t know how or when, but you’ve become so damn important to me. I can’t do this without you. And every day there’s a chance that today will be the last day, because something’s going to poison you, or the Mountain Men will change their minds, or, I don’t know, a mutant moose will decide you look like a good snack.” They both laughed weakly at that, but the truth of it wasn’t easy to shake. Earth was a dangerous world. “I’m afraid that you’ll become the most important person in my life – and then you’ll disappear.”

“Clarke.” He stepped closer, resting his forehead gently against hers. “That’s not something you can spend your time worrying about. Que sera, sera. But I promise I will be here for you, for as long as you want me to be. Besides,” he paused, “No one can see the future. Who knows? Maybe you’ll die first.”

Okay, that did make her smile. Gallows’ humor.

“And please don’t be afraid of this,” he whispered, pressing his lips gently against her hairline. “I don’t even believe in all the fate shit, and I still think maybe this was meant to happen. We were meant to happen.”

Her heart was beating so fast she had to convince herself it wasn’t a biological malfunction. She wanted to believe him – she wanted it to be true.

This time, he leaned into her first. Not stealing a kiss - just offering one, pressing gently against her mouth. She answered his question by molding her mouth to his. 

This wasn't a Moon Blood ceremonial kiss. Their lips didn't press and then part - they came closer, moving against each other with an unexpected urgency. He wanted this, and so did she. 

"Clarke..." He sighed contentedly. She felt herself grin. He was a good man, unintentionally self-endangering actions included. 

As their tongues moved against each other and he slipped his free hand gingerly around her waist, she thought of a night last winter, when snow was falling in camp. Usually she hated snow – it was cold, and cumbersome, and kept everyone trapped inside where diseases spread like they were living in a Petri dish. But one night she had walked Bellamy home, the two of them talking about trade items they needed. The snow had seemed magical, the way it made everything look fresh and new. They had stood outside his door saying goodnight and there was a pause. That had been the first time she’d felt that niggling urge to kiss him.

Then she had turned on her heals and power walked home (to increase her internal core temperature, she told herself, not to chase away unexpected romantic urges). She’d buried those feelings under the ice, blaming them on the weather and her own dry spell. Just because her sex life was in hibernation didn’t mean she was totally immune to a beautiful face.

Clarke had ignored why he had stopped in that doorway, reluctant to say goodnight. She had plausible deniability, so long as she never asked him about his feelings. She told herself a dozen times that night that kissing her was at the bottom of Bellamy Blake’s list.

Here, now, she knew she’d been wrong. Things might have gotten here on their own months ago if she hadn’t been so pig-headed about it. Kissing Bellamy Blake was definitely highlight reel material.

She placed a hand on his hip, pushing until he was standing in front of her bed.

“Sit,” she whispered. He complied. She stood there for a second, grinning down at him. He looked amazing like this – hair disheveled, face flushed, pupils blown wide. And, more importantly, sitting on her bed, waiting for her.

She moved so that she was straddling him, weight resting gently on his thighs. Then she leaned forward, rolling her hips against his as he let out a little moan. He wrapped both his arms around her, pulling her smaller body flush against his. She glanced down at his shoulder.

“If that hurts, you have to tell me,” she murmured against his neck, lips brushing skin. “If you had to go back to the clinic because of this literally no one will let us live it down. Ever.”

“Oh, I love it when you talk doctor to me,” he grinned, moving to kiss her neck.

“I’m serious, Bell. Ripped stitches hurt like a bitch.”

“Mmmm, don’t I know it,” he sighed. “Don’t worry, I’ll let you know.”

She was sucking on the hollow behind his ear when she felt the rumble of a laugh building in his chest. She pulled on his ear with her teeth and the laugh turned into another groan.

“Shut up,” she hissed, kissing him on the lips again.

“But seriously,” he said, unable to suppress his mirth any long, “that was the least sexy makeout conversation ever.”

“Shut upppp,” Clarke retorted, tangling one hand in his hair and moving the other down to press against the hardness in his pants. He complied immediately, moving both his hands over her body with renewed fervor. 

He leaned back slowly onto the bed, pulling her with him until she was perched on her elbows above him. Then he kissed her, soft and sweet. His hands reached for the bottom of her shirt. Once she was free of hers, she helped him gently remove his own. No point in letting those abs remain hidden.

It was funny – she’d seen Bellamy in all forms of undress before, but never like this. Now there was intent behind it, and everything felt different.

She looked down at the large bandage across his shoulder. Then she leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to the exposed skin right next to it. He ran a hand along her disheveled hair and smiled gently. 

They didn’t need to say it in words, not now. But she loved him. She was sure of it now. And she could read his feelings clear enough in his eyes.

Que sera, sera, he had said. What will be, will be. It was true. They lived in a dangerous world where both of them might die tomorrow. Or they might live another sixty years. The only way to live was one day at a time - plan for everything and expect nothing. It wasn’t ideal, but she sure felt a hell of a lot better at the prospect of Bellamy being by her side.

Or rather, underneath her at the moment. She moved up and kissed him furiously again. He responded enthusiastically, hands moving from her breasts to her hips, until one of them slipped straight inside her pants and she let out a little gasp of surprise. He raised an eyebrow in challenge, licking his lips as his fingers moved against her.

She rolled over so that they were lying side by side and did a little exploring of her own.

\- - - - - -

Half an hour later she was pressed up against Bellamy Blake, one of his arms under her head and the other thrown across her body. They were both feeling pretty mellow after what she could only describe as the most intense visit to third base she’d ever experienced. Now he was tracing lazy patterns on her back. Their faces were almost touching.

“No regrets?” he asked 

“None,” she said immediately, kissing the tip of his nose. “I’m in. I like you, and I’m not going to run from it anymore.” Somehow, Clarke found his triumphant grin ridiculously seductive. 

A little more than a year ago they both would’ve been happy if the other mysteriously died, and now they were… what? A couple? Mates? Something. Raven was right – they were definitely something. And a little more so than what they had been an hour ago.

His hands slid down further, comfortably squeezing her ass. She made a little noise, and then laughed. “I want to be with you, Bellamy. Just you. But we are not doing anything that will result in offspring, got it?”

“Fine by me,” He said softly, tightening his arms back around her waist. He leaned forward to brush a kiss against her lips. “I just got through raising Octavia – I’m in no rush to sign up again.” She rolled her eyes. His sister had been taking care of herself since the day after they made it to the ground.

“But you have to admit,” he whispered, moving to brush kisses along her neck, “Any child of ours would be devilishly clever. They could run the whole valley on their own.”

Clarke laughed. “No babies, Bellamy Blake. I don’t think either of us would be ready for that for a long time. Plus, I’m going to run this valley. No need to create usurpers.”

“Whatever you say, Princess,” he grinned, lips moving back to hers.

\- - - - - -

The next day after lunch, Bellamy walked Clarke back to her office and they didn’t say anything business related for the entire three-minute journey. When he turned to leave, she pulled him back by one hand, kissing him soundly on the mouth as he grinned. Across the camp, they could hear Jasper letting out a whoop of joy and Octavia yelling something that sounded suspiciously like “Finally!”. 

They both laughed. 

“How’s the wheat?” Clarke called at Bellamy’s retreating form.

“It’ll last!” He called back, grinning over his shoulder at her without slowing his pace. He was almost late for guard duty, after all. She smiled after him before lifting the tent flap and turning away. For now, this was what they had. And it was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I have done a few things I never set out to do: 1) wrote a second fic where the female reproductive system played an important role and 2) named a fic after a 1D song. Whoops! So with that in mind, I’d like to give a little shoutout to my homegirl, Astarmagnitudesix. Thanks for gushing (/letting me gush) about “The 100” all the time. 
> 
> Also, it shames me to admit this but kudos/comments give me life so if you liked this and have a minute to let me know, when people say nice stuff it seriously makes my day. Love you all and thanks for reading!


End file.
